


Christmas Doesn't Come Every Year

by Pareidolia



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pareidolia/pseuds/Pareidolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese hasn't felt like celebrating Christmas in a long time.  Rinch if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Doesn't Come Every Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msmoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/gifts), [PFL (msmoat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/gifts).



> Took liberties with John's past, and his past with Jessica. There's also a mild reference to 2x10: Shadow Box. Speculative on how it ends after, so please let me handwave that away.

Before, back when John wasn’t Reese yet and he still had a family, he used to celebrate Christmas. They always had a fresh-cut fir, and he remembers the scent of evergreen pungent in the air while he warmed his hands and watched his father drag up the boxes of old ornaments from the basement. His mother could never resist buying new ones each year, and her tastes varied: one year, they had jewel-feathered birds, another, can-can girls in cannibalized Santa suits. Their tree couldn't hold all their ornaments, but that never bothered them, and they would wrap the doorways and banisters in tinsel, weigh them down with the extra ornaments. His father called them deathtraps after forgetting to duck and tangling himself up in a doorway's decorations, but it held no real heat. He would always help John fix anything that fell down anyway, lifting him high so he could hang the ornaments himself. His mother made sure to decorate his room too, and he had a musical Christmas carousel set up on his nightstand. It was the first thing he'd see when he opened his eyes each morning, and the thought of opening up his advent calendar always put him in a good mood for school. He liked the fudge pieces the best.

Then they were gone, and John stopped caring. There were foster families and decorations and wrapped presents, but it didn’t feel important anymore, the days blending until he barely registered it was that time of year.

Jessica changed that. He was older then, probably too old for holiday trappings, but she didn’t look at him and gloss past because the look in his eyes scared her. She found something in him worth seeing; she pulled out feelings he didn’t know he still had. They bonded over the quiet moments, baked goods, old TV shows and the desire to leave everything here far behind, and it was only right that John brought her pastries the next day. She found something in him deserving of a friend, and it had been so long since John had a friend. Her parents were away that holiday and for the first time, he bought a fake Christmas tree for his tiny apartment and watched her face light up when he invited her in. They spent the Christmas wrapped in blankets on the couch and watched old holiday specials on TV while they shared pizza because nothing else was open. Things were easy with Jessica, and it was just as easy when she kissed him a few months later.

But the government didn't leave him alone. Discharged with honors but the country was in a bad way after 9/11, and they came to his bookstore and said it was his duty: the same duty his mother had given years of her life to, the same duty in his blood. Could he be happy while other soldiers died for his country? It was easy to turn them down the first time. Christmas was right around the corner, Jessica's semester was off, and they'd both saved their vacations so they'd get ten days together. They were going to have a real tree and the decorations were sitting in their apartment, just waiting to be put up one weekend. They had a real Christmas dinner this time, meat and potatoes and lots of cake, and they barely left the bed otherwise, even watching the Christmas parade from under the nest of blankets.

But they came again, and again, and in the end, John wasn't the good man he wanted to be. A good man would have been happy because Jessica deserved everything and the quiet life with her should be enough. Even if he only saw her for an hour in an ordinary day because she still had dreams John didn't have, it should have been enough. It shouldn't matter that John couldn't turn on the news because he couldn't bear to watch, not when he should be doing something, anything. His country needed him, there were so many lives to be saved, but Jessica was here and a good man wouldn't think about leaving her. He wasn't that man. When Jessica left, he refused to call it mourning. Jessica would find someone better, someone who loved her and would promise his life to her and spend it making her happy. 

He couldn't fathom anyone loving her any less, and that's what killed her. There aren't any Christmases then.

John spends the first Christmas with Finch drugged out of his mind. Finch decided that even a grunt must read unimaginable pain and he had a hair trigger when it came to dosing him. By the time John was lucid again, it was a new year.

The second year, the decorations are already up in Times Square and when John walks into the Library, he finds himself estimating how much tinsel they would need to cover the bookcases.

"Any plans for the holiday?" he asks when Bear runs up to him, and kneels down to scritch his ears. Too low an angle for Finch to obscure his face when he goes to hang up his coat.

"Numbers don't stop for the holidays, Mr. Reese," Finch counters. But it's too late, because John was watching, and he saw. Not rejection or surprise, but the split-second of blankness, of tainted memory; whatever happened, Finch once did celebrate, and it was a happy time for him. Not anymore, but they both have things better unremembered. 

He wants to change that, John realizes later, while he runs recon from the roof. It's cold out, and their number has a wreath on her apartment door. A wreath would look nice over the computer. They could make a new holiday memory, something that is his, and Finch's, and not their ghosts'.

It should unsettle him, how quickly he latches onto the idea - how much he wants it. There are implications here he doesn't think either of them are ready for.

Instead, he keeps an eye out while he trails their number, and takes note of the holiday everywhere he goes. He needs ideas – Finch won't know what hit him.

* * *

Somewhere in the years John hasn't been paying attention, holiday clothes for pets have become a booming market. In the past week, he's seen dogs dressed as Santa, elves and reindeer, and even one cat in a Hanukkah dress. 

When it's his turn to walk Bear, he takes Bear to a small store by Central that seems to specialize in holiday clothes for pets. It takes Bear a few laps around to decide, but he seems to like the reindeer harness's bells, and who is John to deny him?

When he brings Bear back to the Library, the sound of bells still accompanies them with every step Bear takes. It's actually cheerful. Finch looks up at them as they approach. Bear lopes up to Finch, happy to see him, and jingles all the way. "A reindeer, Mr. Reese?"

"Bear likes the bells," John says. Bear takes a lap around the room, as if to show it off, clearly happy with it. He settles back by Finch's feet, and his fake antlers bump Finch's hand when he leans down to rub behind his ears.

By the end of the day, Finch still hasn't had the heart to take it off.

* * *

"That's a fire hazard, Mr. Reese," Finch protests when he walks in, gaze fixed on the tree John's stringing with lights. It's late, a tiring and successful day, and even their latest would-be killer had a Christmas tree. It's time they had one too.

"The tree's fireproof," John says, and when he plugs it in, finds a string of lights is dead. He replaces it and Bear leaps on the discarded string, batting at it with his paws. Thank God for unbreakable bulbs. Even so, a light bulb case scatters across the floor and John picks it up, tosses it in the garbage. It's his turn to take it out.

Finch is radiating disapproval now as he watches Bear shake the string of bulbs between his teeth. His hunting skills are sharp; that's good. John has to take him out hunting sometime – the more lethal the weapon at Finch's side, the better. "I doubt they test that claim with half-chewed wiring," Finch remarks. Bear's ears prick at the tone of Finch's voice, his senses sharp when it comes to the two of them, and he pads back to Finch, drops the string of lights at his feet, and looks up expectantly. Finch leans down to scold him, and John can feel Bear's second-hand embarrassment. Bear doesn't pick up the string again, instead going to his bed and putting his head on his paws, suitably chastised. It always surprises John how well Bear takes to Finch. It really shouldn't; both John and Bear are beasts of war.

"Bear doesn't want to make you angry," John says. Finch is a great disciplinarian, if Bear is any indication. When he plugs in the tree this time, it paints the entire room in its colorful glow. The Library feels lighter somehow, warmer, more intimate. It's always been just them here but it's usually the job, the Machine's numbers, and now it feels like it doesn't have to be. Finch's face is oddly open when he cuts a glance to him, and John drops his gaze after he registers the sudden warm swell in his chest. John's too selfish to give Finch all the privacy he deserves, but he can afford him a moment.

Finch catches himself and turns back to the computer. The electronic glow is harsh, but it's not enough to take away from the ambiance. "Turn it off before you leave, John." 

John doesn't answer. He has four bags of ornaments and tinsel, and it'll be a while until he's done. After the first hour, Finch isn't even bothering to pretend his attention's on the computer. By the second hour, the deliberately uneven arrangement of ornaments has gotten to him. He shoos John away to rearrange them himself because apparently, two similar ornaments should not be next to each other, much less three boxes of them. John lifts up his hands in surrender and drops down onto Bear's bed, watching Finch fuss over the ornaments. Bear's still awake and puts his head on John's lap, a solid warmth in the room. John doesn't try very hard to resist when the day's exhaustion hits.

When he wakes up, the tree is still on. Finch is gone but Bear's still dozing against him, and the packed tinsel is strewn over the back of Finch's chair. They'll finish it together after all.

* * *

Even with Finch's resources, it's Christmas Eve before he gets John out of the federal lockup after the bank incident. The snow is crisp and clean when he walks out of the police station, and John tries to temper the relief at being free. It's dangerous to hope in some places; jail is one of them. It just gives them something to break. The CIA was supposed to have trained it out of him. It never really took.

"I suppose you thought you'd be spending Christmas in jail," Finch says as greeting when he falls into step beside John, a few blocks later. He didn't know about this blind spot; he'll have to add it to his map. 

"Wouldn't be the first time," John remarks. Second or third, actually. "They give extra rice in India for Christmas."

Finch raises an eyebrow at him. "Nothing so generous here, Mr. Reese. They ordered an extra large shipment of pea puree for the holiday."

He's had worse; food was the last of his concerns when he was captured. But he doesn't have to, because Finch won't let him. There is hope, because Finch gave it back to him. There is a fully stocked liquor cabinet in his apartment, none of it the swill he drinks when he doesn't want to remember; these are memories he wants to keep. Finch has expensive tastes in alcohol.

John tilts his body closer, part to block out the wind, part so he can glance at Finch without any observer being the wiser. "Thanks." Not just for this, but he suspects Finch knows.

They're halfway to his apartment and John wonders how to broach the subject. They don't have good luck with Christmas. Last year, he spent it in a daze of pain meds. This year, he wanted a proper Christmas, and got thrown in jail for days. His fridge is probably rotten by now; he tries to remember if he has anything frozen. It's too late to go shopping, too late Christmas eve for anything to be open. But he doesn't want to spend it without Finch, even if all he can offer is canned beans. "Finch," he starts.

"I took the liberty of ordering dinner," Finch interrupts. "Caterer I know. It should be very good. Bear's impatient to try the steak."

John waits until they get to a blind spot he does know about, and stops in the middle of the street so he can actually see Finch's face. Finch looks amused, and knowing, but John thinks there's something comfortable there, something light, and he thinks he can feel it too. "You weren't subtle, John."

"I bought your favorite wine, Harold," John answers, and trails Finch the rest of the way home.

It's easy and comfortable that night, and everything John wanted. Bear spends most of the dinner trying to leap on the table, his own portion of steak not enough, and they move to the couch so they don't get food everywhere. Afterward, they put up the Christmas tree John hadn't had time for yet, and the decorations he took home that didn't fit on the tree in the Library. John's sent to the kitchen with Bear more than once, his inability to decorate in an aesthetically pleasing way extending even to his own home, according to Finch.

John's already looking forward to their next Christmas.


End file.
